


The Mating Games: Kind of Like The Hunger Games, But Much Sexier

by accordingtomel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Babysitting, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Kid Fic, M/M, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel/pseuds/accordingtomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entries in the Teen Wolf Mating Games Pornathon Challenge. It will be updated weekly with my main and bonus entries, once reveals have gone up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isaac/Scott

**Author's Note:**

> Main Challenge #1: First Time/Last Time

The text arrives at midnight, simple and plain, but the intent is clear as day: _Rough night. You still awake?_

It should say something about Isaac’s life that he doesn’t even hesitate, just climbs out of bed and gets dressed, scribbling a hasty note on the kitchen whiteboard so Derek doesn’t worry.

Scott’s waiting for him when he arrives, mostly naked, save for his briefs, and Isaac’s barely climbed through the window before Scott’s stripping him down, pulling him into a bruising kiss that’s just this side of rough. Isaac doesn’t ask what happened, isn’t sure he wants to know, and just kisses back, taking everything Scott will give him.

Eventually he pulls away, sinks to his knees, nuzzling against Scott’s erection through his briefs, the scent of his arousal intoxicating. Scott’s hands settle on Isaac’s shoulders as he slides Scott’s underwear down to his ankles, freeing his cock. Some nights Isaac takes his time, teases and tortures him until he’s begging for release. But tonight he doesn’t waste any time wrapping his lips around the head of Scott’s cock, fingers reaching to grab his hips and encourage him to fuck into Isaac’s mouth. Isaac can already sense his orgasm building, knows it won’t be long.

“Isaac, _fuck_ ,” Scott moans, part warning, part plea, then he’s coming down Isaac’s throat.

Scott reaches for him, yanking him to his feet, guiding their mouths together in a hard, desperate kiss, one hand gripping his hip while the other wraps around Isaac’s cock. By the time Scott’s hand starts moving, he’s so hard, so turned on, that it only takes a few quick pulls before his orgasm hits him. Isaac comes with a shudder, his moan swallowed by Scott’s mouth, and he falls onto the bed, half sprawled across Scott as he struggles to catch his breath. He allows himself a few moments to press his face into Scott’s neck, before moving to grab a cloth to clean up the mess.

“You can stay, if you want,” Scott says, casual, when Isaac’s finished, patting the empty spot beside him. Isaac tries to ignore the way his chest clenches, because he knows why it’s being offered, what it means, what it doesn’t.

But for all of Isaac’s strengths, in this he’s weak, so very weak, when it comes to Scott. He knows he should say no, knows it like he’s known it the past thirty times and will know it the next thirty as well.

There is no hesitation in his voice when he says, “Yes,” climbing into bed.

Scott nods, shuffles underneath the covers until he’s comfortable, not quite touching Isaac, but close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Good night, Isaac.”

Isaac swallows. “Night.”

He knows he can’t keep doing this, offering himself up like this. The sudden bitterness hits him like a punch to the gut, and he fights back a sour laugh. Except he has no one to blame for this but himself. Scott is everything Isaac could ever want -- he is kind and good, genuine and trustworthy. He sees the best in people. Scott makes Isaac feel better about himself, makes Isaac want to _be_ better. If only Scott felt the same about him. If only Isaac were _Allison_ instead.

Isaac waits until Scott’s heart rate has slowed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath before he rolls onto his side, careful not to disturb him. Under the pale moonlight filtering through the window, Scott is even more beautiful, and Isaac is filled with such intense _longing_ that he can barely breathe for a moment.

What would happen if he said something, if he admitted the truth to Scott, even if Scott can’t hear him?

It’s a foolish idea. Dangerous. He’s never said the words out loud, let alone to Scott. But Isaac’s tired of pretending, tired of playing it off as just a thing between friends, because it’s not. Maybe it never was.

Nothing but Scott’s soft, steady breathing fills the air, and Isaac instinctively curls closer to him. He listens to Scott’s heartbeat and waits. Waits five minutes, ten, twenty, until he is absolutely certain that Scott’s asleep, won’t accidentally hear his confession for the first time, here, like this.

He whispers, “I love you,” into the dark, lips a gentle caress against warm skin, and hopes that one day it will be enough.


	2. Derek/Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Challenge #1: Happy Birthday!

"Ha ha, very funny, Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski says, trying and failing to hold back a snort of amusement. "Yes, I'm old. I get it. You're so clever."

"Excuse me?"

"This card?" He points down at the birthday card on his lap. Not that Stiles needs to see it. He bought the damn thing, he knows exactly what it says. "Well, good job. You sure showed me. Though I have to say, kid, I expected more from you on my 50th."

"I..." Stiles shakes his head, glances over at Derek for half a second, and if the Sheriff didn't know any better, he'd think Stiles appeared almost... nervous? Which makes absolutely no sense at all.

"What does it say?" Scott asks. He tries to reach for the card, but Allison swats at his hand and whispers something into his ear that isn't audible to anyone else.

"It pains me to say this, Dad, but for once, I'm actually not making fun of you."

"Then... what's this card about, if not to call me an old man?"

Stiles grins and ducks his head, suddenly looking sheepish and so much younger than his twenty-five years. Derek's arm is draped loosely across Stiles's shoulders, and he briefly digs his fingers into the flesh of his upper arm, something the Sheriff has picked up over the years as being a supportive gesture on Derek's part.

The rest of the room is still staring at the Stilinski men, wondering what's going on, until Melissa finally says. "Oh for goodness sake, would you just read the damn thing already?"

With a sigh, the Sheriff picks up the card with an old man on the front, sitting in a rocking chair. He flips open the front and begins to read. "Happy birthday, grandpa--" He trails off, realization slowly dawning.

It's almost like Stiles can see the exact moment when everything finally clicks into place.

"Oh my _god_ ," the Sheriff breathes, suddenly feeling all of his fifty years.

Stiles still looks surprisingly bashful. "Surprise?"

His son and Derek... are going to be having a kid? There are probably a million more appropriate responses to the exciting news, but unfortunately the first thing that slips out is: "But... how?"

"Well you see, Dad, when a man loves a man--" Stiles starts. The Sheriff rolls his eyes while Derek and Scott let out matching groans from opposite sides of the room. Allison just giggles quietly into her hands and Melissa looks like she doesn't know _how_ to react.

The Sheriff raises a hand in the air, shooting Stiles one of his patented You Are Not Funny, Desist This Behavior At Once glares. "Please stop talking. Just, stop. I don't... Nope, not doing this today." Turning to Derek, he says, "How is this possible?"

Derek shrugs, but he's quietly beaming inside. (Or at least that's what he suspects Stiles would be thinking right now.) "We went through a surrogate."

"Remember that omega we housed for a few months back at the beginning of last year?" Stiles cuts in. "Well, long story short, she has a new pack now, got in touch with us again, one thing led to another, and in the end, she agreed to be a surrogate for me and Derek. So, um, surprise!" Stiles scratches at the back of his neck. "And happy birthday?"

The Sheriff pushes up from the couch and moves to wrap his son into a bone-crushing hug. He's going to be a grandpa! Sure, it's not exactly how he'd envisioned things playing out ten years ago, but now that he has this, he couldn't imagine things being any other way.

"The happiest," he whispers into Stiles's ear.


	3. Derek/Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main Challenge #2: Texts From Last Night
> 
> The text I used for this challenge was: 
> 
> [**(604):** You called me at 3 am laughing like an idiot. Apparently you consider breaking out of the hospital to be a lifetime achievement.](http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/Text-Replies-49011.html)

Okay, so fine. In hindsight, Stiles can appreciate why this may not be the best plan he’s ever devised. Sue him. But sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.

Considering his current state of mind, Stiles thinks he did pretty well, all things considered. He managed to get out of the hospital just fine, ‘cause he’s stealthy and shit, no matter how many times Derek likes to claim otherwise. He just...failed to work out how he was going to get to the preserve _after_ that. Minor details.

Except Stiles can’t really walk all that well (he thinks those pain meds are finally kicking in because his thinking’s getting fuzzy), and he’s stumbling down the street like he’s completely wasted. Which is fairly accurate, actually. There’s a bus shack a few yards away, but letting go of the building he’s been leaning against is apparently a poor plan, and Stiles falls to the ground in a graceless heap before he’s even taken a step.

Fuck. He’s like a sitting duck. Or, well, a face-planted duck. Whatever.

He really should’ve thought this through better.

With a groan, Stiles manages to at least roll over onto his back before passing out.

~*~

When Stiles wakes, it’s to a pillow under his face and a blanket across his shoulders. Everything hurts. It takes several moments to realize that he’s home, lying on his living room couch, not back in the hospital. Huh.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a chance to appreciate it.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” a voice says from nearby. Derek. Of course.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

It’s probably rhetoric. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna stop him from responding though. “You guys were up against some crazy-ass sidhe. I couldn’t just leave you alone out there.”

Apparently it’s the wrong thing to say. Thankfully, Stiles falls asleep halfway through Derek’s rant, saving him the headache. For now.

~*~

Unsurprisingly, when his dad finds out what happened, Stiles gets grounded for a month. But he doesn’t make Stiles go back to the hospital, so at least there’s that.

~*~

He and Derek argue three separate times about the incident before finally declaring it a dead topic. Their last fight isn’t the worst they’ve ever had, but at least Stiles knows he can always count on amazing make-up sex.

“Fuck,” Stiles groans as Derek works a third finger into him, dragging hot, wet kisses down his chest. Stiles’ cock is straining against his belly, leaking precome. He’s so ready for Derek to fuck him, he can barely think straight. “Need you inside me, right the fuck now.”

Derek pulls back to smirk at him, and Stiles wonders if he’s going to get his revenge now. But then he’s pulling his fingers free, moving to slick his cock instead. Derek pushes into him slowly, but Stiles is having none of that tonight.

“No, no, come on, _fuck_ me Derek. Wanna feel you take me apart,” he gasps out, thrusting his hips up. Derek huffs out a soft laugh, but complies with his request. He sets an almost brutal pace, but Stiles loves every second of it, moaning and crying out as Derek fills him, driving him towards the edge.

Stiles can tell when Derek is close, and he instinctively reaches down to bring himself off. But Derek slaps his hand away, replacing it with his own instead. It takes less than a minute before Stiles comes with a shout, spilling over Derek’s hand and his own stomach, Derek following him over the edge almost immediately.

Once they’ve finished cleaning up, Derek presses up behind him and curls a possessive arm around Stiles’s waist. Stiles is nearly asleep when he suddenly remembers something he keeps forgetting to ask Derek.

“How did you know where to find me that night?”

Derek is quiet for so long that Stiles wonders if he actually fell asleep instead. But just before Stiles is about to give up the cause, he hears Derek say, “You don’t remember? You called me at midnight, laughing like an idiot. Apparently you consider breaking out of the hospital to be a lifetime achievement.”

He hesitates for a moment before saying, “Well, it was pretty fucking awesome, man. I deserve at least a medal.”

The laughter that fills the room is a pleasant surprise, and Stiles falls asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in a week.


	4. Finstock/Greenberg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main Challenge #3: Kink Grab Bag
> 
>  
> 
> Note: Greenberg is not underage in this

Truth be told, there’s nothing Finstock loves more than coaching lacrosse.

“Come on, Greenberg, my grandma can cross-stitch faster than you move. Stilinski, my dog could run circles around you, and he’s only got three legs.”

Even Greenberg and Stilinski, despite the fact that they’re both seniors and still terrible.

After a few locker room incidents years ago, Finstock makes a point to ensure everyone’s safely gone at the end of the day. Usually he doesn’t find anyone, but today the sound of running water fills his ears. He’s about to start yelling when he’s stopped dead in his tracks by Greenberg. Naked, showering, and lazily jerking off.

Finstock opens his mouth to say...something, but the words catch in his throat.

He should leave, because Greenberg hasn’t noticed him yet. This isn’t just an invasion of privacy, it’s illegal. But then Greenberg moans, an obscene sound in the quiet of the locker rooms, and it goes straight to Finstock’s cock. A wave of pleasure and shame washes over him, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes won’t hurt, he tells himself. It’s harmless, as long as he leaves before Greenberg comes, doesn’t touch himself too. He presses back against the lockers, hiding in the partial shadows so his view is still good, but won’t be spotted.

But fuck, the noises Greenberg’s making, the way he strokes himself, is turning Finstock’s brain to mush, and without conscious thought, he finds he has one hand down the front of his jeans, rubbing himself through his underwear. It feels so fucking good, but he’s just trying to relieve some of the pressure, nothing more.

One of Greenberg’s hands trails to fondle his balls, rolling them between his fingers, before moving to press a finger inside himself. Finstock rubs against his crotch even harder, unable to stifle the soft moan that slips past his traitorous lips at the sight.

The air drains from Finstock’s lungs when Greenberg freezes, hand stilling on his cock as he turns, catches Finstock’s eyes for the first time. He stares, wide-eyed, then drops his gaze lower to Finstock’s open fly, proving himself more observant than Finstock ever gave him credit for.

_Fuck._

On a list of incredibly stupid things Finstock has done in his life, this might take the cake, because _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he’s watching one of his barely-legal students jerk off while he has a hand down his own pants.

He’s going to get fired, or worse, arrested. His family will disown him. His life is over.

“Coach?” Greenberg’s question cuts into his thoughts.

“I--” he starts, but for the first time ever, he’s at a loss for words. What can he even say?

For a brief, glorious moment, he considers running away. He can drive out to the airport, catch a flight to someplace warm, start a new life somewhere. Maybe Greenberg will think he imagined--

“Coach.” Finstock realizes for the first time that Greenberg’s turned off the shower, has moved toward him.

“I’m sorry. I should-- I should go.”

But Greenberg reaches out, catching his wrist. “Wait!”

Finstock freezes, blood running cold.

“I...” he continues, flushing from head to toe. “Can I see?” He makes a vague gesture with his chin.

For a second, Finstock’s sure he blacks out from shock. But then Greenberg starts moving his hand again, stroking himself with a firm grip, and Finstock feels his vision cloud, because this cannot be happening.

“Please, I want to see you too,” Greenberg begs, breathless, and Finstock realizes that this isn’t a fantasy, it’s _actually fucking happening_.

He only hesitates for a moment before pushing his jeans and underwear down enough to free his cock, thick and already leaking pre-come. He’s further encouraged by the soft “yes” that slips past Greenberg’s mouth, like he’s enjoying the view. Finally, Finstock gets a proper hand around himself and begins to stroke his cock in conjunction with Greenberg. Nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional enthusiastic moan fill the room as they watch each other jerk off.

Finstock is no teenager, and he knows he isn’t going to last long. But it isn’t until Greenberg flicks his wrist just so, coming with a loud cry and spilling over his hand and stomach, that Finstock feels his orgasm rip out of him with such intensity that he almost collapses.

“Get dressed, go home,” Finstock says eventually, sinking to the floor. When he finally moves again, Greenberg’s long gone.


	5. Derek/Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Challenge #3: Sports Night

“You should get a hobby.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said... you should get a hobby.”

Derek finally glances over at Stiles and tries not to roll his eyes. “I heard you. I just don’t understand _why_.”

“Because you need something to keep yourself busy now that things have settled down and we’re not constantly being barraged with supernatural threats.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to start.”

Stiles just stares at him.

Derek huffs, grabbing a handful of carrots and dropping them into the pot on the stove. “I don’t need a hobby, because I have tons of them already.”

Stiles shoots him a sceptical look. “Name one.”

“I read.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I said so.” Stiles shrugs, leans forward in his chair. “Maybe you should take up a sport or something?”

“I spend half my days working out, why the hell would I take up a sport?” Honest to God, Stiles is completely ridiculous sometimes. Derek turns his attention back to chopping vegetables.

“Might be fun. Help you out with your teamwork skills and stuff?”

“My teamwork skills are fine, thank you.”

Silence.

“I’m not taking up a sport just to appease you,” Derek says, firm.

Stiles says nothing. When Derek finally turns back around, all it takes is one look to know that he’s screwed.

~*~

He tries playing doubles tennis with Boyd, because Boyd apparently has a secret knack for the game, and Derek is forced to reluctantly admit that it’ll probably be a good bonding experience for the two of them.

As it turns out, they’re pretty good at doubles tennis. Really good, in fact. The problem, however, is that they’re _too_ good, and after a couple of months, no one at the Beacon Hills Tennis Club wants to play against them any more.

~*~

Erica and Isaac have been bugging Derek for weeks to go bowling, so finally, he gives in and they all go as a group for some pack bonding.

Derek invites Scott’s pack along too, and they end up splitting into two teams.

Contrary to everything he ever thought about spending a night out bowling with his pack, Derek ends up having fun.

The only problem is that he absolutely and royally _sucks_ at it.

“Hey, is that your age, or your bowling score?” Erica asks at the end of the night, shooting a mischievous glance over at Stiles, because of course she would. The two of them end up laughing all the way home and Derek vows that this will not be happening again any time soon.

~*~

One day Stiles shows up at the house with his lacrosse gear and insists that Derek might as well get into the sport that the rest of his pack loves so much.

Things... don’t go very well.

Needless to say, Stiles ends up with a sprained ankle and Derek feels so awful about the whole thing that they decide to never speak of it again.

~*~

“You know, if cuddling was a sport, you’d totally rock at it,” Stiles says, nuzzling his face into Derek’s neck as he presses in closer.

“Yeah, well, too bad it’s not,” Derek says.

“Or marathon sex,” Stiles continues, and Derek definitely doesn’t tighten his grip around Stiles’ waist. “You’re fucking awesome at fucking, dude.”

“And you’re an idiot.” He tries to sound annoyed, but it comes out ridiculously affectionate instead, damn it all.

“A brilliant idiot, you mean.”

Derek opens his mouth to protest, but then Stiles is kissing him again, so he figures he can let this one slide.

~*~

Miniature golf is a bit of a disaster.

“You’ve gotta stop scaring the kids away,” Stiles scolds, after yet another set of kids runs screaming away from them. It’s the fourth... or maybe the fifth group of them thus far. He’s lost count, truth be told.

“I’m not _doing_ anything,” Derek insists with a huff, waving his arm around. “It’s not my fault their parents let them wander around unsupervised. What am I supposed to do when they come onto our hole and try to play before we’ve finished?”

“For one, you could get rid of the death glare.” Stiles points at his forehead before reaching out and actually smoothing the skin down.

“I was not ‘death glaring’.”

A slow smirk breaks out across Stiles’ face. “Oh, buddy, you forget how long I’ve known you. Those were definitely death glares.”

Derek shakes his head and refuses to discuss the top any further. They finish their game, and then Stiles makes him buy lunch, to make up for his ‘bad behavior.’ Unfortunately his death glare doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Stiles as it did on those kids.

Even worse, the parents of some of the kids he’d accidentally scared away earlier are in the diner attached to the mini golf course, and they shoot him nasty looks all throughout their meal.

“Miniature golf isn’t a sport anyway,” Derek grumbles, much later, as they’re driving home.

~*~

Baseball is awesome, actually.

Derek plays first base (and hears nothing but ridiculous jokes from Stiles for it). He’d played on a league when he was younger, and it feels good to get back into it. Feels like putting on an old hat, or an old pair of shoes, or whatever that expression is.

Unfortunately the timing coincides with a witch coming to town, and after accidentally leading the supernatural trouble right to the diamond where his team is set to play in a tournament, Derek decides it’s too dangerous to be involved in team sports like that.

~*~

“Can we just accept that I’m not going to be able to find a sport, and I’ll just have to read twice as much instead?” Derek finally asks, a good six months after Stiles had initially made the suggestion.

They’re running through the woods, but for once, it’s not because their lives are in immediate danger. Stiles has been preparing to try out for cross country again for his senior year, and Derek loves to run, so he’s been joining him. It’s been a nice way to spend their time this summer, actually. Stiles often stays the night, then they go for a run in the early morning before Stiles heads off to work and Derek goes to class at Beacon Hills Community College.

“I don’t know, dude.”

“Well, too bad, because I’m not trying anything else.”

Stiles huffs, sweat beading on his forehead, but he’s not winded just yet. “You have been running with me, though. For almost two months straight. I’d say that maybe counts, wouldn’t you?”

“I thought you wanted me to do something teamwork related. How is running cross country even remotely close to that?”

Stiles shrugs, but then he suddenly veers towards Derek, like he’s planning on running straight into him. “All right, fine. Maybe your teamwork skills aren’t that bad after all,” he says. “Now, come on, let’s go!” 

He shoves at Derek before taking off in a sprint, and Derek smirks, allowing Stiles a few moments to feel like he’s getting a head start before tearing off after him, an almost predatory grin splitting across his face as he goes.


	6. Chris/Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main Challenge #4: The Ties That Bind

The thing is...no one talks about it.

Everyone knows. How could they not, with their enhanced senses? Even the humans are more than aware of what’s going on. But they don’t discuss it.

It’s never been an issue. Until it suddenly is.

“What’s he doing here?” Derek asks, blocking the entrance to his place and shooting them both a suspicious glare.

Peter tries not to roll his eyes. “It’s pack bonding night. We’re here to bond.”

“Yeah. Pack bonding. For the _pack._ Last I checked, Chris Argent wasn’t pack.”

“You know it’s rude to talk about people in front of them,” Peter says, casting a sidelong glance at Chris.

“And you know it’s rude to bring non-pack members to pack bonding night,” Derek counters.

Peter laughs, cold and brittle. He should’ve known to expect this. But he’s not taking this bullshit tonight, least of all from his nephew.

“Fine, then count us both out,” he says, calm. This isn’t over.

~*~

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Under no circumstances will Chris Argent ever become a member of this pack.”

“All right, fine. Maybe you did know. Kudos to you.” Peter spreads his hands out graciously. Derek glares.

“We don’t need someone like him. No one trusts him. There’s nothing he can offer us other than being your fuck buddy.” He spits the words, like it’s disgusting to him. Maybe it is. Not the fucking, because Derek loves to take it up the ass (Peter knows this for a fact), but perhaps the partner.

Peter smirks. “Still got a thing against the Argents, I see, even after all this time.”

It’s low. But no one’s ever accused him of being compassionate.

Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t rise to the bait. He folds his arms across his chest, shooting Peter a hard look instead. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“It’ll never happen.”

“No?” He’s met with nothing but a steadfast silence. “Suit yourself, then.”

With a shrug, Peter turns, walking back down the porch steps. If it sounds like a threat, that’s because it is.

~*~

“Is this really necessary?” Chris asks, but he’s breathless, writhing under Peter’s touch, so the complaint doesn’t feel entirely convincing.

“It is if we’re ever going to get through to my stubborn nephew.” He thrusts again, harder this time, nails digging into his hips as he feels Chris clench around his cock.

Chris pushes back against him with a moan, hands pressing against the wall. “And just how is fucking in his place not going to wind up in both our deaths?”

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “You’re a hunter, I’m the big bad wolf. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Except he would, and they both know it.

“Jesus Christ, would you fucking touch me already?” Chris growls, impatient, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing Peter’s ever heard.

He hums against Chris’ shoulder, raking very human teeth across pale skin, marveling at the scent of Chris’ attraction, his arousal, the way he shudders under Peter’s touch like he both loves and hates it. It makes him wonder, not for the first time, what it’d feel like to sink his teeth in and claim Chris like he wants to.

“Don’t be impatient, darling,” he coos, because the term of endearment pisses Chris off, but his anger drives Peter _wild_.

“Fuck you.”

Peter smirks. “Mmm, next time, love.” And then his fingers wrap around Chris’ dick, stroking him hard and firm as he drives into Chris with barely contained control. After that, it only takes a few minutes before they’re both coming, sated and satisfied.

~*~

It takes Derek nearly twenty-four hours to show up at Peter’s apartment. He’s surprised Derek lasted that long.

“Is this what I have to look forward to?”

Peter shrugs. “Until you get the message.”

Derek’s mouth opens and closes several times, like he doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, he heaves a sigh, and even before he speaks, Peter can tell that they’ve won. “You’re cleaning every single inch of that place. I don’t want to be able to smell _anything_.”

“Not even Stiles’--”

“Every. Inch.”

Peter waves a hand. “Sure, fine. Whatever you want.”

“And don’t ever set foot in my home again uninvited.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air between them before Derek finally huffs, walking away without a second glance.

Peter smirks, crooked and a little devious, the thrill of victory thrumming through his veins.


	7. Isaac/Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Challenge #4: Movie Night

In fairness to Isaac, it's not like he's ever been in this type of situation before. So really, how is he supposed to know what's going on? Scott's not exactly forthcoming and he just... never thought there was anything to pay attention to in the first place. 

So when Erica corners him one evening as he’s heading out from Derek’s place, everything suddenly starts to fall into place.

“Where’re you going?” she asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder and smirking devilishly at him.

“To see a movie.”

“With who?”

“Scott.”

“Oh.” And suddenly she’s beaming, smugness radiating from her in every way possible.

Isaac frowns, retrieving his leather jacket from the hook by the front door. “What do you mean _’oh’_?”

“Just didn’t realize it was getting serious.”

He stops halfway through pulling on his jacket to stare over at Erica. “Excuse me?”

“You and Scott,” she says, slow, like Isaac is dim. “This is, like, your fourth date this week, isn’t it?”

At the word ‘date’, Isaac freezes entirely, and he thinks his mouth might be hanging open in shock. Sure, he and Scott have been spending a lot of time together over the past year, especially over the past few months after Stiles started dating Derek. But that didn’t mean they were together.

“But I’m not-- Scott and I, we’re not-- we aren’t dating,” he stammers, cursing the way his heart is suddenly pounding furiously in his chest.

But if she’s paying attention, she doesn’t let on. Instead, she just smirks. “If you say so.”

~*~

Isaac can’t think about anything else the entire way to the movies, save for Erica’s words. But it isn’t until they’re sitting in the theater waiting for the movie to start that he finally manages to muster up the courage to say something about it to Scott. Normally Isaac’s a pretty huge fan of waiting to act on anything until he’s had ample time to think and consider the situation, but this feels too important to ignore. Regardless of what Scott says, Isaac knows they should probably be on the same page about this.

“Can I ask you something?” Isaac asks, picking carefully through his bag of popcorn just to keep his hands occupied.

“Yeah, of course you can,” Scott says, smiling softly at Isaac. And okay, so maybe he’s been in just a little bit of denial after all, because the way Scott’s looking at him -- it’s almost _tender_ \-- is doing funny things to Isaac’s insides.

“Is this--” he waves his hand around the theater, “a date?” Scott’s eyes widen at the question, but Isaac can hear his heart begin to race. Scott doesn’t immediately deny it, so Isaac presses on further. “I mean, have we been dating? Because, uh, Erica seems to think so.”

Scott is silent for a very long time. Long enough for Isaac to start to worry that maybe Erica had just been fucking with him as some sort of joke. But he feels instantly better when Scott finally says, “I-- don’t know? Maybe? I mean, I wouldn’t be against it, though. Would you?”

Isaac smiles, because he can’t seem to help it when he’s around Scott. The returning grin is so bright that it fills him with courage. “I’d never really thought about it until tonight, to be honest. But I’m definitely not against it. I think it’d be kind of awesome, actually.”

“Okay. Well then I guess we’re on a date?”

Isaac nods, contentment washing over him, and he has just enough time to process that they’re actually doing this before he feels Scott’s lips press against his own, and then he stops processing everything else entirely.

~*~

Isaac’s sure _Iron Man 3_ was a fantastic movie, but if someone were to ask him what it was about, he can honestly say he doesn’t have a freaking clue. He and Scott don’t really watch much of it, truth be told.

~*~

Erica takes one look at him when he gets back to Derek’s much later that evening and starts laughing.

“What did I tell you? Erica knows all,” she manages to say, between cackles. But she’s happy for him, at least. That much he’s certain of.

But Isaac’s too distracted to respond or tell her how she was right, so he just nods, grin splitting across his face, and heads up to bed, already eagerly anticipating his next date with Scott.


	8. Boyd/Erica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main Challenge #5: The Picture Challenge
> 
> The inspiration for this fic is from [this picture.](http://i.imgur.com/QlZBBxZ.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> This is the only fic I've edited after the fact, because I don't feel like I quite satisfied the porny requirements & so I've slightly edited the ending of this to reflect that.

Erica returns on a Tuesday.

Boyd remembers because they'd had a chemistry test that morning and Stiles had yet to stop complaining about Harris.

One minute they’re running drills in the woods on the Preserve, and the next, Erica’s sauntering through the trees like she hasn’t been gone for ages. Like she’s still a part of their pack. Like she hadn’t fucking _abandoned_ them.

Someone starts talking, but Boyd doesn’t hear a word over the sudden crushing weight bearing down on him. Something twists in his gut, curls up his spine, running hot and cold at the same time, and he can’t see, can’t think, can’t _breathe_. His shoulders feel heavy, muscles taut, and all he can do is stare.

He doesn't stick around to hear her explanation.

It’s been two years.

~*~

It turns out that Erica voluntarily stayed with the Alpha pack for months, learning everything she could before they cut her loose. Then she’d taken up residence with the Anders pack south of Beacon Hills.

She wasn’t a prisoner, hadn’t been forced to stay away, but not once had she made contact with anyone. Boyd still remembers being tortured, then inexplicably being offered the chance to leave. He also remembers Erica standing with the Alpha pack, watching him retreat, silent and unaffected.

As far as Boyd’s concerned, she made her choice years ago.

~*~

It takes over a month for the others to start letting her back into the fold. Boyd knows that Derek doesn’t trust her, not yet, but he wants to. She’s learned a lot while she’s been gone. So have they. But unfortunately Erica has the upper hand. They need her.

Occasionally he catches Erica looking at him, gaze soft and sad, but she doesn’t approach him. Hasn’t yet. He’s still not ready.

~*~

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” Erica says as they crouch down in the bushes a few hundred yards from where trolls have taken up residence in an abandoned farmhouse.

Boyd knows she’s right, but he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting to anything. Instead, he steels himself for the impending fight, gaze hardening as he stares out across the open field, listening for Derek’s signal.

“I’m sorry.”

Her heartbeat remains steady.

He doesn’t say anything, but he knows.

~*~

Sometimes it feels like nothing’s changed at all.

Sometimes it feels like everything has.

Sometimes Boyd even smiles when Erica and Stiles gang up on Derek, or she calls Scott and Isaac out on their blatant flirting. But the sting of betrayal runs deep. He doesn’t know how to forgive, but more importantly, how to trust again.

Sometimes he finds himself wanting to, though. Maybe it’s a start.

~*~

Everything’s going well with the witch coven, until it suddenly isn’t.

The spell is expected, but the explosion isn’t. Erica and Stiles are in the crossfire, but she doesn’t even hesitate to protect him from the blast. Scott and Derek scream for Stiles, but Erica is all Boyd can see, heart stuttering in his chest. He could’ve lost her for real this time.

He rushes for her, without even thinking, pulls her into his arms. She’s covered in blood, warm and sticky against his chest, but he doesn’t care. Boyd feels Erica curl around him, into him, and he tightens his grip.

~*~

“I’m sorry.”

It’s a common theme these days, though Boyd thinks that maybe _he’s_ the one who should be apologizing.

He presses a kiss against her lips, her chin, trails kisses down her shoulder and chest, relishing in the way her breath catches in her throat, the way her heartbeat speeds up as he moves lower.

“I should be the one apologizing to you,” he says, quiet, but he knows she hears him.

“No. I left you. You had every right.”

Boyd shakes his head. “I could’ve given you a chance, listened to what you had to say first.”

He sinks to his knees, hands running up and down her thighs appreciatively. She lets out a low hum, contented, spreading her legs as wide as a shower stall will allow, and digging her nails into Boyd’s scalp as he mouths at her clit.

“It’s...okay. You know-- _oh fuck, yes_ \--now.”

The taste of her arousal is intoxicating, something he hasn’t realized he’s missed until this very moment. Erica moans her encouragement as Boyd slips two fingers inside of her. It doesn’t take long, here under the warm spray of the shower for her to come undone, to moan as her orgasm hits her. Boyd guides her through it until she’s tugging at his head, pulling him up into a bruising kiss instead, like she can’t get enough.

They’ve wasted so much time. _He’s_ wasted so much time. But not any more.


	9. Derek/Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Challenge #5: Road Trip

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"When will we be there?"

"Soon."

"What time is soon?"

"I don't know. In a while."

"When is that?"

Derek huffs softly and shakes his head at the voices wafting towards the front of the van, full of eager anticipation and apparently zero patience whatsoever.

"We'll get there when we get there, now stop asking," he says eventually, because clearly engaging the monsters at the back of the vehicle is going to lead them nowhere.

"But Papa, we're excited to see Grandpa and Grandma," the youngest, Ella, whines. It's something she picked up from Stiles, the whine. It's the perfect combination of imploring, pathetic, and adorable that infuriates Derek because he can never resist it, no matter how hard he tries. The thing is, it's not like Stiles' dad and Melissa live far away. Beacon Hills is less than a four hour drive, but it can feel like a century with three kids under the age of ten, they've learned.

"I know you are. We're all excited. It'll be just a little while longer, sweetheart," Stiles finally jumps in, turning around in the passenger seat to face their children in the back. "Why don't you read your Batman book to your brothers and by the time you're done, we should be there."

For a moment it seems like Ella might protest, but then she's pulling out her book, opening it to the first page. She starts reading, slow but steady, and Derek feels a wave of pride wash over him. There was a time in his life where he never imagined he would be anything other than a broken shell of a person, caught up in his past with no hope for a future. But here he is, almost twenty years after the fire that destroyed his whole family, with an amazing husband and three incredible children. Derek _has_ that again... he has a life and a family and most importantly, happiness. He couldn't be more grateful to have been so wrong.

Nothing but the soft sound of Ella's voice fills the air, and for a few brief, _glorious_ moments, everything is tranquil and calm. Of course, it doesn't last.

"So... are we there yet?"

" _Stiles!_ " Derek roars, as the kids erupt into a fit of giggles behind him.

Stiles shoots him a wicked grin, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. "What? You told the kids to be quiet, you never said anything about me."

"You're an idiot," he grumbles with far more affection and far less bite than he was aiming for.

"Yeah, but you still love me," Stiles replies, leaning across his seat to plant a kiss on Derek's cheek.

"Ew, Dad, no one wants to see that," James groans, and everyone bursts out laughing.

Despite his protests, Derek loves every minute he spends with Stiles and their kids, because he has what he never could've hoped for again, twenty years ago: a family.


	10. Derek/Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main Challenge #6: Hungry Like the Wolf
> 
> Inspiration:
> 
> _**“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”**_ \-- Three Little Pigs (Green Jelly)  
> Source
> 
> **_It needs but slight provocation to make the wolf devour the lamb._** \-- As quoted in Henry G. Bohn, _A polyglot of foreign prove_ Source

Whoever decided it was a good idea to leave Derek and Stiles in charge of Scott and Allison’s eleven month old for the night is clearly an idiot. Derek just wants it stated for the record.

Mason starts crying the moment his parents walk out the door, and after a feeding, two diaper changes, and several games of Peek-a-boo, he’s still screaming at the top of his lungs hours later.

Derek’s ready to give up and call Scott to come back, but Stiles insists that he’s got one more trick up his sleeve as Derek heads downstairs to grab a glass of water.

An awful sound wafts down the stairs towards the kitchen as he’s putting the glass in the sink, one that’s so much worse than any baby’s cries.

_“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”_

Green Jelly. Oh God. Derek runs. When he barrels into the temporary nursery, Stiles is pacing, holding a surprisingly silent Mason in his arms and bouncing him to the music-- if you could call it that.

“What the hell is this?” Derek says, grabbing for the ipod and promptly turning it off.

“Hey, that’s my werewolf playlist!” Stiles cries, gently shifting Mason in his arms.

Derek ducks out of his way and starts scrolling through the playlist instead. _Hungry Like the Wolf_ , _She-Wolf_ , _Lone Wolf_. Derek rolls his eyes. _Night of the Wolf_ , _Run With the Wolf_ , _Cry Wolf_ , and then...

“Clap for the Wolfman, Stiles? _Really_?”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he says, carefully placing Mason into his crib. “And Mason obviously liked it if he stopped crying.”

Derek huffs, because it’s at least partly true. “Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy, or...?”

Stiles laughs. “Well, you know what they say: it needs but slight provocation to make the wolf devour the lamb.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and whatever he’d been about to say vanishes from his brain in a puff of smoke.

“What?”

Stiles shrugs.

“Exactly _who_ says that, Stiles?”

“Uh, you know...” he waves his hand around, shrugging. “The ever elusive _’they’_. Very powerful force. You wouldn’t wanna mess with them.”

Derek’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “Riiiiight.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s an old Danish proverb that I stumbled across a couple years ago. I thought it was kind of cool. Sue me.” Stiles smirks.

“You,” Derek says, shaking his head, “are an idiot.”

Stiles’ grin is almost blinding as he steps forward into Derek’s space, reaching up to wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I know.”

Then Derek is kissing him. Because Stiles is an idiot, but he’s also ridiculous and brilliant and kind of awesome. And they need to be having sex right now.

“Ahh, not in front of the baby. Scott would kill me,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s mouth, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room.

They barely make it past the threshold before Derek presses Stiles up against the wall, licking his way into Stiles’ mouth again. The sight of Stiles calming a baby shouldn’t be such a turn-on, but God help him, it is. He presses his entire body into Stiles, rocking his hips forward, relishing in the feeling of Stiles against him, his dick already hardening in his jeans.

“I’ll show you how a wolf devours a lamb,” he says, sinking to his knees. Stiles’ eyes widen, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest as Derek frees his dick, wraps his mouth around the head, swirling his tongue across the slit until Stiles moans obscenely.

“Lame,” Stiles says, breathy. But his eyes are closed, head tilted back against the wall, the fingers scraping against Derek’s scalp telling another story. Derek sinks lower, taking as much of Stiles into his mouth as he can, sucking and hollowing out his cheeks as Stiles edges towards his release. When he comes a moment later with a cry that should wake the dead (yet miraculously doesn’t rouse the baby), Derek swallows every last drop before Stiles is pulling him up into a bruising kiss, leading him towards the bedroom.

~*~

“Just so you know, you’re banned from ever playing that werewolf playlist for our kids,” Derek says later, when they’re curled around each other in bed, the baby asleep in the other room.

Derek feels more than hears Stiles’ laugh against his neck. “Yeah, we’ll see.”


	11. Derek/Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Challenge #6: Summer!

“Are you hot? I’m hot. Why is it so hot in here?”

Stiles groans, throwing an arm across his face as he rolls from the couch to the floor. The glorious, cool floor that’s not so much glorious as somewhat cleaner than a toilet bowl, and not so much cool as slightly less warm than pretty much every other surface in Derek’s entire loft.

“It’s summer,” Derek points out helpfully.

“No shit. But it’s gross. I’m, like, literally pouring sweat here. How the hell are you managing to stay alive, let alone actually _do_ anything?”

“Because I’m a werewolf,” Derek says, but it ends up sounding more like a question.

“That doesn’t make any sense. If you’re normally a furnace, how are you not dying of a literal heat stroke when it’s about a million degrees out?”

Stiles pulls his arm away from his eyes long enough to see Derek shrug from across the room. “I think our bodies regulate themselves based on the temperature, so while we always run a bit warm, we don’t really feel it when it’s hot outside? I don’t exactly know. It’s not something I ever asked, because it didn’t really matter back when I was a kid.”

It doesn’t seem fair to Stiles. It really doesn’t. Derek and Scott and all of them get to be warm in the winter and cool in the summer? Sometimes not being a werewolf really sucks.

“So not fair.”

“We could always change that, you know,” Derek says with a smirk, as if reading his mind. He takes a seat on the end of the couch, poking Stiles in the side with his big toe.

“No offense, but I’m happy being just the lowly human.”

“You’re not just a lowly human, Stiles.”

“Oh my God, I was _kidding_ , stop growling at me, you freak,” Stiles says, and shoves Derek’s foot away from him.

“I assume you didn’t come over here to roll around on the floor and whine about the heat?” Derek finally asks.

“How do you know?”

“I can hear your heart.”

“For the record, that’s so not fair either. And whatever I came here for doesn’t matter any more, because it’s about nine billion degrees and I think I might die.”

He groans again for good measure. Because Stiles literally can’t remember the last time summer in Beacon Hills was this sweltering. Maybe it’s something supernatural, like a hell demon? Do those even exist? He’ll have to look into this some time in the near future, because considering their luck, it wouldn’t even surprise him.

“I have an idea,” Derek finally suggests.

Stiles’ ears perk up. “For how to cool down?”

“Well... maybe not cool down, exactly. But it would definitely involve less clothing.”

“Oh?” Stiles is sitting up now, staring at Derek’s face to make sure he’s reading the situation right, which, yup, he most definitely is. “ _Oh_.” And then he’s grinning as Derek helps him up from the floor. Because no matter how hot it is, it’s _never_ too hot for sex.

It may be shaping up to be the hottest summer on record in Beacon Hills temperature-wise, but it’s also shaping up to be Stiles’ hottest summer too (pun intended).


End file.
